Four Seasons
by Simbelmyne Nienor
Summary: Four one shots about how Éomer and Lothíriel met.
1. Chapter 1 - Summer

So this is my newest story. It'll be a collection of four one-shots. It's also my first attempt at a canon fic and a non-parody/humor. Also, I really don't know how to write all polite and such, and how they would've talked to each other. Or how to write seriously in general. You should see my persuasive essays. Full of sarcasm, they are.

**Please note that this is a revised chapter since I first posted this story yesterday. I would like to say thank you to all who reviewed, especially to those who gave me constructive criticism. I have added more details and dialogue and have expanded the general story. A special note to horseyyay, who has reviewed every single chapter of all of my stories so far: Thanks!**

Disclaimer – Tolkien created it all. His estate owns it all. I am not a part of the Tolkien Estate in any way. I do not own.

**oOo**

**_Chapter One – Summer – Eighteenth of July, 3019 of the Third Age_**

King Elessar Telcontar stood just inside the grand gates of the seventh tier of Minas Tirith, waiting for the Riders of Rohan to come. It was the day that Éomer King was to arrive in the city to carry King Théoden's body home to Edoras for a funeral. Elessar knew that his friend was still adapting to life as king, instead of only being a marshal in charge of an éored. Still to add to the Rohir's troubles, his sister Éowyn was recently betrothed to Faramir; a dwelling was already being prepared in Ithilien. It was all too soon.

The thundering of hooves alerted the King of the Reunited Kingdom to the arrival of Éomer King. Said king rode up first and dismounted.

"Hail, King of Rohan," King Elessar held up a hand in greeting, "we have been waiting for your arrival."

A wry smile graced Éomer King's face, "I hope not too long, my friend. We rode as fast as was allowed, for over a fortnight. We thank you for your hospitality."

"Nonsense. Come; you look as if you have not slept for days. Our good friend Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth has offered you some of the chambers in his townhouse on the sixth level. He and I would be happy to host you for several days," Elessar directed the king of Rohan towards the winding street leading to the lower levels of the White City.

Éomer beckoned towards two of his marshals who had come along to accompany him, "Elfhelm, Erkenbrand," and then turned towards a waiting Elessar, "you said for several days? My friend, I cannot stay for that long. Perhaps one night. Yes, that is time enough."

With the two marshals trailing behind them, the two kings walked down to the sixth level and to the temporary home of Prince Imrahil.

**oOo**

King Elessar knocked on the wooden door of the all-white stone house. A serving girl opened the door and answered, "Welcome, my lords. The Prince Imrahil is inside dining with his family."

A slight frown crossed Elessar's brow, "My greatest apologies, we did not mean to interrupt, but may you alert the Prince of our arrival; mine and Éomer King's?"

A looming shadow came up behind the serving girl.

"No need, my liege. We have been anticipating your arrival. Please come inside for a meal with my family," Prince Imrahil ushered the two kings and the marshals into his home.

Inside of the house, the visitors passed through an entry hall and multiple corridors before reaching what looked to be an intimate family dining room. Looking inside, Éomer King noticed Imrahil's three sons; Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos; Elphir's wife and son; and Imrahil's daughter and youngest, Lothíriel.

All heads in the room swiveled towards the newcomers. The princes and princess of Dol Amroth stood, politely bowing.

"Welcome, my lords," was the murmur that rippled throughout the room, around the table. King Elessar, the epitome of grace, gestured for everyone to sit.

When all were seated, Imrahil tapped his wine glass.

"We are gathered around this table this evening to remember those who died during the War of the Ring naught but this past spring. Éomer King, who has graced us with his presence, will be bearing the body of his uncle, Théoden King, home tomorrow morning. So, we have offered him respite tonight, and tomorrow morning, we will join the funeral procession to his home in Edoras."

All glasses raised, the clink of them together rang throughout the room.

Éomer King looked at Prince Imrahil in bemusement, "Prince Imrahil, I remember you telling me that you would be riding with us back to Meduseld, but I thought it was solely you, and no others."

King Elessar spoke up, "My Lords, the Prince and his children will be joining, along with Faramir, who will ride from Ithilien."

When he had had his answer, Éomer turned back towards Imrahil, "Thank you, Prince Imrahil, for your hospitality."

Imrahil waved this off, saying, "Now that we are all settled and introduced, let us eat!"

With that, dinner commenced.

**oOo**

"Éomer King," said king looked across the table at Imrahil as everyone ate, who was staring at him expectantly, "how fares Rohan? In what brief time you have spent there after the War?"

"Well, my friend. At least, considering it has only been half a year since I returned. Despite that, crops are being re-sown. Homes are being rebuilt. I dread the winter coming," the King of Rohan spoke.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Imrahil's face, "I am glad to hear it. If you need any assistance, you have only to ask."

To Éomer, this wounded his sense of pride. _Asking, no, begging for help in a time of need is not something I want to do. But Imrahil did offer it, and Rohan needs you. This is not about what you want. Think of your people_, he thought to himself. Snapping out of his own thoughts, he turned towards the prince, "Thank you, Imrahil. When we arrive in Edoras, I shall inform you if anything needs assistance."

Here, Éomer began inspecting his wine glass, looking to divert the topic of the conversation from his country to something else. _Anything else. _"Speaking of our home countries and cities, Elessar mentioned in passing that Dol Amroth did very well during the war. He mentioned your daughter, Lothíriel, too."

Imrahil answered, "Yes, Dol Amroth kept up its trade, at my daughter's assistance. She insisted on keeping the trade running, saying that when the War was over, life would go back to normal and we could provide basic food for the other cities in need. I am very proud of her; she showed leadership abilities. Her brothers, however, thought differently. They are fiercely protective of her, with her being the youngest and all. I am sure you can relate to that, Éomer, what with your younger sister growing up."

Éomer cleared his throat, "I still cannot express how much gratitude I have for you for finding her on the Pelennor. My mind was wracked with grief after the passing of my uncle, and, seeing her lying broken, I lost all ability to think rationally. Because of that, I endangered my men during our suicide charge. But she was safe. That is all I am glad for."

"How old is your sister again? For one so young, she was very brave," Imrahil tried to keep the conversation from becoming too depressing.

"Twenty-four this year. It will be very quiet in Meduseld once she leaves, or so the advisors tell me. If only she and Faramir had not met..."

Imrahil decided that the conversation was not going to pick up again, so he turned towards his right, at his eldest son, Elphir.

**oOo**

After the meal was over, a voice piped up from a few seats to Éomer's left, "Éomer King, how is your sister? Faramir handed me a letter not long ago addressed to her. Would you like me to give it to you to give to her?"

_This is simply fantastic, _Éomer thought, _more and more people talking about Éowyn leaving. Now, after so many years of me out in the East Mark with my éored,when I finally have time to spend with her in the same place, she up and leaves me. Well, not yet, but she and Faramir announced their betrothal at Elessar's coronation this past Midsummer's day. To lose her so soon._

"My lord?"

Éomer snapped out of his reverie and took the offered letter from Lothíriel's hand. It took all of his willpower not to _accidentally _lose it or to throw it out the window. "Thank you, my lady. I shall keep it until we reach Edoras. Why did you not just give it to me then?"

Lothíriel smiled briefly, "I would have forgotten by then, or worse, left it here, in Minas Tirith."

_We would not want that to happen._

She continued, "Faramir really does care for your sister. Anyone can see it. I know Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos all fell the same way if I were to move to another lord's country, or even just across the city."

Try as she might, this did not placate the young king, who tried his hardest to hide his irritation with everyone trying to comfort him or help him or nag him. "Thank you, my lady," _assume a façade of happiness, _"this letter will reach her first thing when we arrive in Edoras. I am quite tired from my journey here, so if you would excuse me, I am off to bed," he nodded his head at her.

"Rest well my lord. A servant will be by at first light to wake you," she curtseyed as he walked down the corridor to his room for the night.

**oOo**

The next day, around mid-morning, the funeral procession of Théoden King set off towards Edoras, Éomer King leading in front. Beside him was the Prince Imrahil and the King Elessar.

**oOo**

The funeral procession rode until nightfall, setting up camp near Amon Dîn. As dinner was being prepared and tents set up for the night, Éomer approached Elessar and his wife, Arwen, who were seated around a small fire.

"May I join you?" he asked.

Elessar nodded, "Do you think you require any assistance with food or other supplies for Rohan this winter?"

Éomer's tone was wry, "Yes, we do. Mostly in provisions, if the slight chance that something might happen comes to pass. Besides that, we are slowly repairing, both mentally and physically. I know for certain my countrymen will keep bringing up issue after issue and blow it out of proportion, no matter how small. It grates on you."

This set Elessar chuckling. After all, he was new to being king. He knew what it was like rebuilding a country damaged by war.

"Just smile and nod, my friend. That is all the advice I have for you," he added.

A grin slowly crept onto Éomer's face, "Everyone, here in Gondor and in Rohan, keeps bringing up the subject of my sister and her betrothed. Do they not understand that I have other things on my mind? Why did she decide to leave me?"

Elessar placed a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder, "Éowyn is getting married, my friend. She is not dead, so do not speak of her so. Be glad she has found true love. It is the inevitable."

Éomer began to stand up, "Thank you, Elessar. You are, as usual, right."

At that moment, Elphir, Imrahil's eldest, and his sister, Lothíriel, approached. Éomer sincerely hoped they were not going to ask him anything about his country or his sister. He had had enough of that for the past few days.

"Greetings, my lords. My sister and I would like to invite you over to where we are sitting for some stew and general social interaction."

_General social interaction? _Éomer thought, _That means more people and more questions. I might just make up an excuse and spend the rest of the night in my tent. Alone. Hiding._

Lothíriel looked amused and confused at the same time, glancing at her brother. "'General social interaction?' What is that supposed to mean?"

Elphir sighed, exasperated, "Lothíriel, I meant do they want to join us for maybe some storytelling and general conversations."

"Why did you not just say 'conversations?' Why be all proper and use complicated phrases?" Lothíriel threw back at her brother, flinging her arms up into the air.

"Do not do that in front of your _king, _Lothíriel. It is improper," Elphir pushed her arm down, whispering angrily.

Lothíriel just shook her head and curtseyed, "My lords, please excuse my misbehavior and kindly join us for a few general social interactions. I hear there is stew being served."

This changed Éomer's mind. He wanted to eat dinner and maybe talk with Imrahil further about the upcoming winter.

A whisper went up from the two conspiring siblings.

"Were you being serious just now, Elphir? Not even Aunt Ivriniel speaks like that."

All present had to hide their smiles at this as they walked towards where the Prince Imrahil and his family were sitting. At the last moment, before everyone was seated, Éomer caught Lothíriel turning around. Both made eye contact and Lothíriel gifted him with a small smile and a wink, along with mouthing the words _general social interactions _at him.

Let it suffice to say, that was not the last time Lothíriel of Dol Amroth crossed Éomer's mind that journey.

**oOo**

**Please tell me what you think. I hope it didn't suck too much. Please leave a review or PM me with any other suggestions or constructive criticism. This is the first out of four chapters, in case you are wondering. **


	2. Chapter 2 - Summer

**_Author's note. PLEASE READ!_**

**Hello everyone. I am so, so sorry for this really late update. I've been having a hard time lately, and between therapy and everything going on in my life, writing has been placed on the back burner. **

**Thank you for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows. And now that I'm with my grandparents and their multiple cats, eating Filipino sweet rice desserts to my heart's delight, I finally have the time and the inspiration to write.**

**For my other stories, ****_Enjolras Discovers Fanfiction _****and ****_The Peoples of Middle Earth take on Les Misérables, _****I will update as soon as possible, by mid-January at the latest. **

**Also, I decided that this story will be more of an eight chapter deal, as tuasnigelda let me know of something I had left a bit, um, I just lost all of my vocabulary, unfinished. Vague, I guess. And I needed to tie up loose ends before starting another part of the original four-shot.**

**Thank you**

**oOo**

**Chapter Two –Summer – Twentieth of July, 3019 of the Third Age**

The following day, the company of Rohirrim and Gondorians rode as swiftly as was possible towards Prince Faramir's palace in Ithilien. After all, several noblewomen from Gondor insisted on taking several of their best silk crepe dresses and elaborately embroidered headdresses, if not to be prepare for an unexpected ball in Ithilien, then to impress the handsome, new, and single King of Rohan.

When Éomer first questioned the extra weight in trunks and gilded chests the packhorses had to carry, Aragorn just smiled and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, "Do you not see, my young king," he chuckled, "the women of Gondor jump at any chance to be around eligible men, especially attractive monarchs such as yourself. They will swarm around you like wasps to a honey pot."

Éomer was not amused by his friend's jesting and brushed off Aragorn's hand, "Do you not mean maggots on a carcass' rotting flesh?"

Aragorn placed a hand over his heart with an expression of mock-hurt, "You underestimate your looks. You do, after all, look marginally better than carrion."

"Only marginally better?" Éomer had to laugh at this, "And yet you never denied the noblewomen being compared to maggots."

A shout went up from Éothain, across the green where they were gathered, who was leading Firefoot over to his king.

"Éomer Cyning," he handed the reins over and began to walk away, "King Elessar, the riders await your orders await and the packhorses look ready to collapse, or at least the Prince Imrahil's does."

The former king gave a bemused look to Aragorn, "Imrahil? I thought you said it was the ladies who would have the most to bring."

Aragorn shrugged, "Well, then I have no answer." He made move to leave, "I will leave you alone for a few brief moments before someone will request your presence. Remember the

maggots. I think it would be best if I spent some time with my beloved wife."

"Very well, my friend. Your wife must come first and foremost. I will see you later on tonight, as I am riding towards the back of the procession for the day, around the fire," Éomer bid a temporary farewell to his friend, who nimbly avoided various loitering courtiers and Rohirrim by hopping to and fro.

A laugh escaped Éomer's lips as he whirled around, barely missing a head-on collision with the princess of Dol Amroth, who walking briskly past him and happened to appear right there.

Éomer's laugh stopped short as he took a quick intake of breath. "Princess Lothíriel, you frightened me."

_Béma, she appeared from nowhere, _he thought, _one would think the battles of Helms Deep, Pelennor, and Morannon would have helped me to keep y wits about me, but instead a princess who appears to be a tad touched in the head._

"I know I might seem a bit touched in the head at first, but this is completely and utterly normal behavior in Dol Amroth," and when Éomer's brow creased briefly, Lothíriel added, "You spoke the last bit aloud; it is not as if I can read minds. Only Lady Galadriel can inhibit people's minds and speak to them. It seems a bit of an unnerving skill to possess."

A nod from Éomer, who seemed lost in thought. After a few moments of searching for a lost question, he looked back up at a waiting Lothíriel.

"Princess Lothíriel, yesterday you handed me a letter from Faramir to Éowyn. What confuses me is that Faramir is meeting our entourage tomorrow morning halfway to Ithilien. Why would he not give the letter to Éowyn himself, or even to me, instead?" He paused, seeing her stoic façade waiver, "You look as if you have something to say."

Lothíriel's eyes shifted from side to side, looking for an escape. However, she only came upon ornate chests filled with gown upon gown and chattering ladies waiting in front of their carriages. Pretending tosee something over the tops of the heads of everyone else, she looked back at Éomer.

Curtseying, she said, "Éomer Cyning, I can see my brother Amrothos trying to capture my attention. He looks as if he has something important to tell me about. Have a nice day. Remember to engage in several general social interactions today."

After a split second of puzzlement over her strange parting statement, Éomer inclined his head and turned back to his horse.

The summer rushes and dried golden grasses rustled as Lothíriel's blue and silver embroidered surcoat hem brushed the ground. She turned off to where Amrothos supposedly was and, picking up her skirts, she ran over there, dodging the occasional courtier and carriage.

Éomer was quite bemused at the princess' strange mannerisms, but he soon brushed it off as a Gondorian trait. After all, Amrothos and Erchirion were not the most serious people one could ever meet. _Give me my marshals and éoreds over these prim and proper Gondorians any day, _he thought, as he swung himself into his saddle, _and I do suppose I will avoid any "general social interactions for the rest of the trip."_

**oOo**

To Lothíriel's luck, she soon found Amrothos deep in conversation with one of his _closer _lady friends, Lady Melannen, and her friend, Lady Nedieth.

"Amrothos!" she shouted, running over, clutching her skirts as not to dirty them, "May I please speak to you?"

With a gesture to his two companions, Amrothos grinned rakishly at her, "Of course, dear sister. Just join in on our little chat. Melannen was just telling us about her adventures in shopping for bright orange brocaded silk, a Yuletide present for her least favorite, overtly giggly friend, Mornegiel. You remember her, Lothíriel, the one who attached herself to Erchirion a few years ago like a petulant child and would not let go."

A smile graced Lothíriel's lips as she recalled the girl and her antics involving Erchirion. _Oh yes, Mornegiel. How could I ever forget that leech?_

Lothíriel yanked on her brother's fine linen shirtsleeve, "Brother, if you would not mind being apart from your companions for a mere moment, may we speak in _private_?"

Amrothos pecked Melannen on the cheek as Lothíriel smirked. _Close lady friend indeed, _she thought with a grin, taking her brother's proffered arm. The two wove between the minimalist burlap packs of the Rohirrim soldiers and the wicker baskets containing all sorts of sugar frosted pastries and summer berry tarts. With a quick dart of his hand, Amrothos acquired two flaky tarts and handed one to Lothíriel, who bit into it eagerly.

"So," Amrothos spoke with his mouth full, spewing crumbs all over the front of his shirt, "what is it you wished to speak to me about, sister?"

Lothíriel chewing slowed to a stop as her footsteps faltered, "I do not remember… Wait, brother, it will come to me. I seem to have forgotten. Oh, do not smile at me like so," she gave Amrothos a small, sheepish smile. And then her eyes opened wide and she smiled brightly, "I remember now! I might have given Éomer Cyning a fake letter from Faramir to Éowyn so he could give it to her."

A slightly exasperated expression crossed Amrothos' face, "Lothíriel, why, exactly, did you write a fake letter to Éomer?"

"Well, it was not addressed to Éomer…." Lothíriel mumbled, turning away from her brother's penetrative stare.

A sigh from Amrothos, "You are avoiding the question, Lothíriel."

"Not the question, Amrothos, the anwer."

He gave her a pointed glare, "Just answer me before I bring in Aunt Ivriniel in to interrogate you."

Lothíriel feigned terror and then sobered, "Please do not poke fun at me, Amrothos. I wanted to meet Rohan's new king, much like when I first met King Elessar," at Amrothos' knowing look, her voice rose, "It is the same, Amrothos, it is the same."

The two continued walking, the wicker baskets and burlap packs eventually giving way to white canvas tents with a wide gold braid design woven into the edges.

Amrothos laughed, "You continue to tell yourself that, sister, and I will continue to pretend to believe you." When he stopped laughing, he gestured down at her hands, to her forgotten tart, which she handed to him with no qualms.

"Brother, in all seriousness, nothing will come of my fake letter and staged meetings with Éomer Cyning. He has hordes of Gondorian women, all ages included. I know our little neice, Isilwen, is quite taken with him, despite her being only six years old," Lothíriel smiled, trying to be nonchalant about her not-so-subtle attempts to converse with Éomer, "I even heard him compare the courtiers to maggots and himself to carrion."

"And where, exactly, did you hear this, Lothíriel?" Amrothos held out a hand to stop her from continuing forwards and held her by the shoulders, "You seem unnervingly interested in his concerns."

Lothíriel had the good graces to blush, "Um… as I was hurtling headfirst towards Éomer Cyning because I had tripped over some silk ribbons lying around, strewn on the dusty ground. When I nearly crashed into him, I heard him laugh and mutter about Gondorian women, carrion, and maggots. I drew my own conclusions."

Amrothos smiled and offered his arm to her, "Come, sister, we should get going. I am sure the Rohirrim are growing restless waiting for us."

Laughing, she took his arm and the two ran off towards where their horses were tied.

**oOo**

When Elfhelm blew the curved horn to signal the procession's departure, Éomer looked around, trying to spot at least one of his companions who would not try to engage in general social interactions. After his eyes wildly moved about the crowd, he spotted Fréawine, one of his uncle's boring, long-winded advisors. _Perfect! _He thought, _someone dull to talk to for a few hours, although I suspect that he will do most of the talking._

Éomer rode up alongside Fréawine and began with the universal conversation starter, "Hello, Fréawine."

Fréawine inclined his head, "Éomer Cyning. Éothain and Marshal Erkenbrand were telling me about the Prince of Dol Amroth and his plethora of trunks, crates, chests, barrels, and the like. Tell me, what is the Prince's family like? Are there any people I should take note of?"

A groan from Éomer. _Béma these advisors are infuriating, _he thought, _with all of their talk of 'note taking' and 'people,' meaning future Queens of Rohan and my future wife. All they want is for me to wed a rich, pretty daughter of some extremely wealthy and well-known gentleman. 'People he should talk note of' indeed. _

When he snapped out of his reverie, he came upon Fréawine's disproving stare, "Hláford mín, you do not seem as if you are listening to me."

_You do not say, _Éomer thought wryly as Fréawine changed the subject from future queens to various vegetables, each individual one, that the Riddermark would be in need of over the winter. _At least with a more mundane topic I can have some peace. _This was a comforting thought.

His advisior continued to drone on and on as the day passed, and eventually, night fell, and according to Aragorn, they had around thirty more miles to ride before reaching Ithilien.

_Why are we moving so slowly? _was his initial thought, but then he remembered the packhorses, _never mind._

**oOo**

Around the fire later that night, Imrahil walked over and sat down next to Éomer. Amrothos and his sister Lothíriel soon followed, the latter carrying a large tray laden with loaves of dark rye bread and hard cheese.

The younger Prince of Dol Amroth spoke first, "Well, Éomer, I see you were avoideing us today during the ride."

"No, my friend. I was avoiding a few general social interactions," he informed Amrothos, a brief smile crossing his lips, "and my highly interesting advisor, Fréawine, sought to inform me of winter vegetables and the like."

Amrothos nodded with a knowing smile, "Ah, highly interesting. I know the type," a glance towards Lothíriel, "she does, too. You would be surprised at the amazing number of empty-headed Gondorian women and their talk of brocades, ribbons, eligible bachelors, and other horribly dull subjects like that."

A smile crossed Éomer's face as he took some of the proffered bread, "On the matter of brocades and ribbons, Imrahil, Éothain informs me that your trunks, crates, and chests are the heaviest, above all other women and their 'brocades' and 'ribbons.'"

Said Prince of Dol Amroth looked a bit surprised at such a jest, but Lothíriel quickly jumped to his aid.

"No, Éomer Cyning, you are mistaken," she said, as Imrahil sighed in relief, "Those are not my father's trunks, but Amrothos'. Surely he must have somewhere to store all of his cosmetics and mirrors."

Laughter went up from around the fire and, catching Éomer's eyes, Lothíriel grinned widely.

No, she was not going to be leaving Éomer's mind anytime soon. Even if she did seem a bit touched in the head at times.

**oOo**

**Happy New Year! By the Gregorian calendar. Props to you if you can catch the two Lizzie Bennet Diaries references in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one, as it took forever.**

**Please leave a review or PM me with any suggestions or constructive criticism.**

**Also, forgive me if I don't know when I'll next update this story. Life is crazy.**


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